Dead Code
by semnai
Summary: Apathy is a disease. Jim has the cure. Part of my Corrupted Universe, though you don't need it to understand this.


This is sort of a prequel to my other fic, Corrupted. There is nothing too spoilery for it though. I wrote it when I should have been writing Chapter 3. Whoops. XD I just sort of wanted to write some Mormor. There might be more to this later? Who knows.

* * *

><p>There was a time in the history of the Grid when the User was something to be reviled. And even before that, it was like some mythical creature, and a program was considered soft in the head and a religious fanatic for even buying into it. These days, no one gives a shit. We're tired. We've been pushed around god knows how many ways, and programs stopped caring. They want puppets? They'll get puppets.<p>

And that's how _he_ came into the picture.

Unlike the others before him, he didn't trounce around the Grid, making a fuss. He melted in, slid in like the snake he was, hiding himself among the circuitry, biding his time like a proper hunter. He pulled at all the strings in his web until he knew everything about us.

Around that time, I had taken to wandering the streets at night, looking for any sort of action. With people having that whole not-caring thing going on, my kind of work was hard to come by. No wars, the Games were effectively dead, so I had taken to petty crimes on the streets. A bit low for me, but better this than the alternative of being just another program.

Leaning on a wall opposite a club, I eyed a gorgeous thing chatting up a weedy program who probably couldn't throw a disc farther than he could reach. If I failed on my chance with her, I could follow the twig home and knock him up a bit for trinkets of value lying around.

A high pitched shriek cut through the street, and she stomped back into the club, somehow managing to slam the sliding door, a feat even I had considered impossible. Damn.

I'm a big program, you know, and I'm not being modest. Designed for protection in the system or whatever. Who really follows that these days anyway. A program's 'true purpose' or whatever bullshit is programmed into us is what I like to call a 'recommendation'. Some people like it. I don't.

The scrawny man was smirking, his face contorted into a half grin that caused chills to run down my spine. I like to think of myself as a hunter, and that was a huge warning sign of some dangerous prey. But I hadn't the chance to hunt in a while and when a program screws up my plans for a pleasurable evening, I'm not processing clearly.

Stomping forward, I didn't stop until my face was in his. I had at least four inches over him and considerable bulk that could twist his thin everything into nothing. "Do you know what you just did?" I growled, grabbing his collar and shaking him for emphasis. Roughing programs up used to be my specialty.

The smirk didn't slide off his face like I supposed it would. In fact, horrifyingly, if anything, it widened to a full-fledged reptilian smile. Slowly looking up to me, he turned his head to the side if eyeing my threat for meaning. His eyes… there was a spark in them that spoke of something I had perhaps never seen in all of the Grid. It was unnamable but drew me in like an unfulfilled desire for something I didn't even know I needed.

Suddenly, he spoke, my name curling off his tongue, oozing before my eyes like slurry. "Sebastian Moran, I presume?"

He paused, searching my face. I slowly let him go and shakily stepped back. I had never felt so affected in my dismal life, but this program was no normal program. I knew that now. He was different. He was _new_.

Realizing a response was called for other than stupidly hanging my mouth open, I nodded.

He looked around the street casually as if enjoying the scenery of dark shabby alleys, before looking back at me. "Let's go somewhere to have a little chat. That sounds lovely, doesn't it?" he added, raising his eyebrows to me.

Without waiting for an answer, he started strolling down the street, which was now completely deserted. What could I do but follow him?

We sat in opposite chairs in a dank, windowless room, not too different from my own hideaway. I had a cup in my hand filled with some hot liquid that this man wanted me to drink. Definitely a rule in my business: never drink from the cup handed to you. Poisons, bad alcohol… you don't know what you're getting.

He was slowly sipping his own cup, watching me as I watched him.

"I would hazard a guess you want to know what I have you here for, Seb. Can I call you Seb?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued. "I'll jump right into the matter. How do you feel about stirring things up around here? Grown a bit boring for your tastes, hasn't it? Programs are so… malleable." Smiling his predator smile again, he chuckled. "You're good with your disc they all say. One of the best out there. One of the most dangerous men on the Grid"

I nodded. "Yes." After a second's consideration I added, "Sir."

"It's been a while since you've had a real job, but I'd like to offer you more than that."

"More than that?" I asked, as I seemed to have finally found my voice, even though his mere presence now was still disconcerting to me. I had my suspicions as to what I was dealing with, but kept them to myself. It was not my secret to share, yet.

"I'd like to offer you a position. Second in command."

He seemed so sure of himself, confident in his place here, more that I had seen in any program here for cycles upon cycles. He had plans; he had goals. Perhaps he was going to do something truly good for the Grid. No. Not good. Different. And that's what we needed. It was refreshing, calming, and strengthening all at once. Now that I could get used to.

Putting down my drink and standing up, I gave the only answer. "I accept."

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. "We'll get you situated here right away. Oh so much to do and so little time. I _love_ that, don't you? I always work better when there's a crunch. We're going to get along famously, Seb."

An odd thought then struck me, as he starting pulling square things off the walls, and placing them on a table.

"I—I don't even know your name."

"You can call me Jim. Jim Moriarty."


End file.
